Day Twenty-Three

I’m off to a slow start today. I picked a bumpier road to head down, which in the end, will supply us with a ride that is more fun, however, getting started can be about a bitch. I've got a line or two left on chapter two and then the road dips hard to the left. It's a stretch with no stops, and no comfort. Close to seven-thousand pages of tears and disillusionment are promised ahead. Maybe I should strap myself to the hood, that way I won't be able to get off if I puss out.

One Hundred Thirty-Two

"Hello?"

"Yes dear, did you say hollow?"

"What? No I said, "Hello.'"

"Why the fuck did you say low?"

I'm not against being alone--lying in the direct center of a two bedroom place for one.

Day Thirty

Trying to stay focused. I think a colony of pixies have moved into my brain. I woke up in the street this morning--one shoe off, one on, and the headlights of an oncoming car echoed in my eyes.

I like the dark spaces behind these posts. The unlimited night. Sometimes, when I am quiet and still, I can relive my life, every moment, all at once.

"Here's your San Francisco afternoon, your Pacific Heights joke." I make a balloon animal--really, just a yellow opaque dick and balls, and I hand it to a small child. She smells of Chlorine and fumbling adult fingers. I wonder if you know her?

Southern Tale

She hadnt been home in days.